


Discrepant

by Bannerific (Nellethiel)



Series: Of Science and Soldiers - 100 One-Shots [1]
Category: Incredible Hulk (2008), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anger, Feelings of Inadequacy, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Science Boyfriends, Suggested child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-11 23:17:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellethiel/pseuds/Bannerific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony gets frustrated and Bruce fixes it.  But Bruce can't really fix the underlying cause of Tony's anger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discrepant

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Português brasileiro available: [Discrepante](https://archiveofourown.org/works/518567) by [Rosetta (Melime)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melime/pseuds/Rosetta)



“Shit!”

“Hm?”

“These figures are all wrong.”

“Mm.”

“No, Bruce, you don’t understand, they’re _all_ wrong.”

Bruce finally pulled his eyes away from the report he had been studying, took off his glasses, and focused on Tony.  The billionaire’s frustration was obvious; his hair stood on end, the result of his hand being run through it so many times, and his forehead was wrinkled with concentration and dismay.  They had been working since just after dinner in almost complete silence, comfortable and busy.  Good busy.  But now…

“I’m sorry, Tony, I wasn’t listening,” Bruce began. “What’s wrong?”

Tony gave an exasperated sigh.  “The numbers.  The results.  The equations. _My_ equations, Bruce.”  Tony was working himself into quite a state, his face turning pink as he struggled.  “How in the hell could _my fucking equations_ be wrong?”

Bruce said nothing, only cocked one eyebrow as he folded his arms pensively, moving to see the offending equations.  He was used to Tony becoming frustrated; his quick temper and emotional responses often acted as a perfect foil to the quiet, thoughtful personality of the doctor.

Tony took a deep breath, rubbing his forehead as he pulled himself together.  “I just don’t see,” he said finally, “how there can be such discrepancies between my results and my father’s.  The equations I used should have produced the same results in half the time.”  His fist came down on the table, hard.  Bruce didn’t jump.  “But it took me twice as long, and I reached an entirely different conclusion.”

“Tony,” Bruce started, but Tony was on a roll now.

“I had JARVIS run them forward and backward and fucking sideways!  I copied all the data, by hand, from  the original files into my own, then keyed them all into the system myself, manually.  And they’re still _wrong!_ ” Tony’s voice rose to a shout with this last word, and, unable to physically contain his aggravation, he kicked his stool as though it had tried to bite him.  It would have toppled over had Bruce not caught it, gently righting it before trying again.

“Tony,” he tried, his voice still quiet, calm, even.

“You know, sometimes I think I should have just listened to my father,” the inventor continued, now stalking about the lab, pushing unoffending equipment out of the way with more force than was really necessary.  “’Anthony, you’re not going to amount to _anything_ in the science industry _._ ’ And ‘Why don’t you just take up painting or something, you’re of no use to me in the lab.’  Oh, and let’s not forget my favourite, ‘Sometimes I don’t think you’re my son at all!’”  This statement earned a lab table, bolted to the floor, a particularly hard kick.  Tony stopped and swore, flopping down at another stool and thrusting his injured foot out, his chin on one hand as he gesticulated emphatically with the other.

It suddenly occurred to Bruce that he was about to break his glasses, as his hands had balled into fists without his notice.   He knew that Tony and his father had never been on… chummy terms.  But he hadn’t realized before just the extent of their differences.   He definitely hadn’t been aware of the resentment Tony harbored that was suddenly so very evident.  And to top it all off, Tony was _sober._

And he wasn’t done.

“And then there was my mother,” Tony continued, hardly aware that Bruce was approaching his table.  “She was absolutely no help at _all._ Just standing there, all the fucking time, all solemn and quiet and sympathetic, but did she say anything to him?  No.  Did she tell me he was wrong?  No.  She didn’t do _anything._ ”  His hands were shaking.  “Get those away from me.  I don’t ever want to see them again.”  A pair of manila folders had dropped onto the table in front of him.

“Tony!” Bruce said, firmly, much louder than before.

“ _What_ , Bruce?”

“There’s nothing wrong with your equations.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, Tony,” Bruce explained.  He removed the first page from each folder and placed them side by side.  “Here,” he pointed.  “You wouldn’t have these problems if your handwriting wasn’t so awful.  You copied down 17 as the coefficient of _b_ , but operated from there on out like it was 11.” He raised his voice slightly.  “JARVIS, correct me if I’m wrong, but if you change that error, and apply the change to any other instances that required _b_ ’s coefficient, the results should come out the same as Howard Stark’s.”

“Running it now, Dr. Banner,” came the computer’s reply.  Then after a few moments, “You are correct, sir.”

Bruce turned back to Tony, not sure what reaction to expect.  He definitely didn’t expect to find Tony almost in tears, an astonished half-smirk on his face.

“Tony?”

Tony seemed to mentally shake himself, then stood up and stretched.  Within seconds, he seemed to have forgotten anything had happened.  “Welp, now that we’ve got that settled, I think it’s time we call it a night,” he said, before turning and walking toward the door.

Bruce followed hesitantly, a bit startled by Tony’s abruptness.  “Uh… okay,” he agreed, as he caught up with his partner.

Just outside the doorway, Tony stopped and almost casually put a hand on Bruce’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Big Guy,” he said, all the sparkle and mischief back in his eyes. “That was a good catch.”

And with that, Tony was striding off down the hall, no doubt toward the nearest wet bar.

Bruce shook his head and turned in the direction of his room, checking his watch.  Two in the morning.  Suddenly, as though learning the hour had caused it, the physicist was exhausted.  So tonight he did not sit up reading as he normally did.  Instead, he fell asleep more quickly than he thought possible, into a restless sleep filled with visions of a frightened, miniature Tony, being chased and beaten mercilessly by a grotesque caricature of Howard Stark.

When Bruce woke the next morning, he could remember only tiny-Tony’s face, and he couldn’t get the image out of his head for days.

**Author's Note:**

> So I may or may not totally suck at making up science-talk. But does anyone really read Science Boyfriends for the science? Pffft.


End file.
